I’m really…”
She didn’t want another apology. She just wanted him gone. “Go, get out of here.” She gestured toward the stairs. “Girls only!”
“He probably wanted to hang around to catch a glimpse of you in your pj’s,” Colleen teased, leaning out her bedroom doorway as Clayton tromped down the steps. “He has always stared at you.”
“He was just trying to intimidate me into going home.” Never mind that the McClintocks’ house had always felt more like home than the rented bungalow she’d shared with her mother while her father spent most of his time away, driving a semi. But her mother actually hadn’t spent much of her time at their run-down place, either. She’d mostly been in the bar.
“So where’s Brenna?” she asked as she joined the two sisters in their old bedroom. Even though Clayton’s room was empty, Colleen and Molly still doubled up when Molly came home from school. Abby envied the closeness between them. Growing up, she had wanted a sister desperately, and so she’d made the McClintock girls into hers.
“Brenna stayed behind to help her mother clean up,” Molly explained as she painted her nails on top of some newspapers spread across the comforter. “And she didn’t want to leave her parents alone with T.J. and Buzz.”
Buzz was undoubtedly the twin whose dark hair had been “buzz” cut much shorter than his brother’s. Abby suspected he’d borrowed his father’s electric razor.
“Why? They were managing fine.” Abby recalled Mr. and Mrs. Kelly’s smiling faces and easy laughter as they’d played with the boys. Clayton probably wasn’t the only one under parental pressure to provide grandchildren.
“Maybe too fine,” Colleen agreed. “Mom might have to fight them for rights as a grandparent.”
“That’s just like Brenna to choose responsibility over fun,” Abby observed. “She and Clayton would be a perfect match.” So why wasn’t his mother trying to set up the two of them? Why was she playing matchmaker with Abby, who didn’t even intend to stay in town? To keep her and Lara in Cloverville? Mrs. Mick was the only “grandparent” Lara had ever known.
“Clayton’s never looked at Brenna the way he looks at you,” Colleen teased her. She had to be teasing.
“We’re not going to stay up all night talking about Clayton,” Abby insisted, determined to change the subject.
“So this isn’t going to be like our old slumber parties, then.” Molly laughed.
“We never stayed up all night talking about Clayton.”
“We never did,” Colleen agreed. “But you did.”
Obviously, her two friends had joined forces with their matchmaking mother. And they were making things up. The only reason Abby would have talked about Clayton at all back then would have been to complain about how he spoiled their fun. She picked up a pillow and chucked it at Colleen’s head.
“Mommy! You’re not supposed to throw things in the house,” Lara chastised her as she and Mrs. McClintock stood in the doorway.
The older woman’s face was illuminated with contentment. “It’s so great to have my girls home again,” she mused. “I’ll read Lara a story and tuck her into bed. You go back to gossiping about boys, like you used to.”
Abby kissed her daughter on the forehead. “Hey, sweetheart, thank you for being so good today.” She’d been extremely patient waiting for their flight—more patient, Abby suspected, then Clayton had been.
“I’m always good, Mommy,” Lara reminded her matter-of-factly. She waved at Molly and Colleen as Mrs. McClintock carried her off to bed.
“Are you sure she’s yours?” Molly teased. “She’s so sweet.”
Abby occasionally wondered herself. “You were there when I had her,” she observed. “Well, at least you were there until you passed out.”
Abby’s best friends had come to Detroit for Lara’s birth. Mrs. Mick had come along, too. Without their support, she didn’t know what she would have done. She’d been terrified.
“A doctor who passes out at the sight of blood…” Colleen began.
“Hey, I was exhausted,” Molly said defensively. “I can barely fit sleep into my schedule.”
But she’d always fit her friends into it. Because she’d been there for Abby, Abby had to be here for Molly, coming back to Cloverville and saying what needed to be said.
“Lara’s a good girl,” Abby said, “but kids are a lot of responsibility.”
“Oh, my God. Clayton’s already gotten to her. She’s talking about responsibility.” Colleen shook her head, sending waves of satiny brown hair shimmering around her shoulders.
“Kids deserve responsible parents, that’s all.” Not selfish ones like hers had been. “They deserve stability and love. Mol, you know I love you, but if you’re having any doubts—and I think you are—you shouldn’t get married tomorrow. It’s not fair to the boys or to Josh.”
Before she’d met Josh, Abby had figured her friend had accepted his proposal out of pity because he’d been raising his sons alone since their mother abandoned them when they were babies.
Molly’s husband-to-be seemed like a nice guy—and as gorgeous as Colleen had mentioned. Abby could understand why a woman would accept his proposal. For anything.
“But most of all, honey,” Abby said, settling onto the bed and looping an arm around Molly’s shoulders, “it’s not fair to you.”
“The wedding is tomorrow,” Molly replied, her voice heavy with misery, as she laid her head on Abby’s shoulder.
Abby’s stomach tightened. Her friend was having doubts. “Until you say, ‘I do,’ it’s not too late to back out.”
“Clayton will kill me.”
Abby laughed, knowing exactly on whom he’d lay the blame for a canceled wedding. “No, he won’t. He’ll kill me.”
ABBY CRACKED OPEN THE DOOR and peered across an empty vestibule into the church. Bunches of lilies and carnations adorned each pew. Sunlight shone through stained-glass windows behind the altar, casting the entire church in a rainbow of colors.
“Is anybody here yet?” Brenna asked from the ante-room, where she sat with Lara, Colleen and the bride.
Abby ducked back as she caught sight of several early arrivals. An older lady wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a wildly flowered dress particularly caught her attention. “Mrs. Hild.”
“She’s the organist for the ceremony.”
“Great. Just great.” The older woman would probably be about as happy to see Abby as Clayton had been. Cautiously she eased the door open farther, looking toward the other end of the hall and the groom’s room. As she watched, someone stepped out—Clayton McClintock in a black tux with a pleated shirt, the white fabric crisp and complementary to his tanned skin and brown hair and eyes. A sigh slipped
